


When the evening is spread out against the sky

by r0nj4



Category: God's Own Country (2017)
Genre: Drabble, Fluff, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2019-03-27 14:14:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13882581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/r0nj4/pseuds/r0nj4
Summary: Gheorghe and Johnny share their work on the farm. They also share their cigarettes, their beer, and some truths.





	When the evening is spread out against the sky

**Author's Note:**

> I guess I could've tagged this Unresolved Sexual Tension because apparently I'm a child who's scared of writing proper smut. I'm sorry about that! I hope you like this anyway.

Gheorghe has taken off his shirt. 

It had started getting warmer. Not gradually but quickly, from one week to the next, almost overnight it felt like. And Johnny weren't prepared. He isn't at all prepared to see a beautiful man standing shirtless on the field, trying to assemble a new fence. There's a sheen to Gheorghe’s skin, a certain dampness testament to hard labour. It makes him glisten in the sun. Johnny’s mind’s brought back to sixth form and that one time when his mates had dragged him with them to see Twilight at Keighley Picture House. He’d forgotten about that. The smell of popcorn and the crunching sound of crisp-packets. And Lucy, who’d tried it on with him while he was busy trying to hide a hard-on -- more likely caused by that werewolf lad in the film than by her.

Johnny stands there, in the middle of the field, pondering the width of Gheorghe’s shoulders, and vampires that sparkle in sunlight. He feels a bit sorry -- for Lucy. She was a nice girl and he hadn’t been very nice back, really. He’d kissed her once, thought he’d try it on and see how it fit. She’d tasted like cheap lager and Cutter’s Choice and Johnny had felt a bit sick.

“Are you stuck?” Gheorghe asks. He looks at Johnny from the other side of the fence, the corner of his mouth twisted into a half-smile. “You’ve just been standing there staring for a minute.”

Gheorghe has a pair of cutters in his hand. When he wraps the barbed wire around a pole and pulls, Johnny can see muscles working under his already sun-kissed skin. His beard has grown in a bit since he first arrived. He’s all man.

“I’m hard at work, me,” Johnny says, lifting a pair of cutters of his own.

Gheorghe laughs. Johnny feels light as air.

“It’s warm,” Gheorghe says. A drop of sweat trickles from his neck, the softest part of his body, down his chest before disappearing into the unruly hairs covering his belly.

Johnny has forgotten what they’re talking about. 

“Staring again.”

When Johnny’s gaze travels back up to Gheorghe’s face he sees that Gheorghe isn’t actually looking at him, but at the work at hand. He’s wearing thick gloves, tightening the knot of the wire, making huffing-like sounds that remind Johnny way too much of other, very similar, sounds he makes in an altogether different setting. It throws him a bit off kilter. 

“Best to put that shirt back on. If ya don’t fancy burning your skin off,” he says. 

“It’s no problem. I put on some lotion. You were busy snoring, so maybe you didn’t notice.” Gheorghe’s smiling. Johnny’s not sure when it happened, but he’s learned how to tell that from his voice alone.

“On your back and all? You’re fibbing.”

Johnny puts on his own gloves and reaches out to help. They’ll finish faster, after all, if he stops dawdling. Gheorghe snorts. They get on with the work.

 

Later in the evening, after tea, Johnny gets out his pack of Rizla’s and roll them a smoke to share. Nan had fried cod for tea, served it with chips and perfectly muhsy peas that Johnny loves. Gheorghe had frowned at him for pouring too much vinegar on the chips. Then dad had asked about the fencing, but not like he would’ve before. He’d seemed genuinely interested, and when Gheorghe had spoken of how well it looks to be turning out dad had smiled and Johnny had felt a bit silly for being so happy. 

Since May passed and June arrived, they’ve spent most of their evenings like this, outside on the rickety outdoor furniture set they’d picked up at a charity shop in town. Gheorghe pulls out a can of Carling from the pocket of his fleece and they share that one as well. Johnny’s made a habit of taking much smaller sips than Gheorghe, but that’s something they don’t talk about.

“Ta,” he say, as Gheorghe hands him the can and he hands over the cig. 

Gheorghe puts his hand on Johnny’s thigh, and despite the layer of cloth between them, Johnny feels electricity buzzing through him like a current. 

“Did ya ever fancy a girl?” he asks, surprising himself. 

He thinks about Lucy. About the hair she’d coloured dark purple on a whim during A-levels, of how much quicker than him she probably still is at rolling smokes, and how sincerely proud she'd seemed when he’d told her that he didn’t really go for girls. 

“Maybe,” Gheorghe says, pausing for a smoke. “Maybe when I was a kid. But not really. Not like I fancy you.”

Johnny stares at the ground, feels the hand on his thigh squeezing a bit. Nothing, before Gheorghe, has made him grin this often. Not that he can remember, at least. His cheeks hurt from smiling. He feels a bit like he’s going mad.

“Did you?”

He looks up at Gheorghe. Looks into his brown, inquisitive eyes.

“No.”

He places his own hand atop Gheorghe’s on his thigh, feeling safe in the familiarity of his strong fingers. Feeling safe in how easily they fit together, when Gheorghe twists his hand around and Johnny can slot their fingers together. They finish the smoke in silence, shoulder to shoulder and fingers intertwined. Gheorghe puts out the butt in the tray on the table and reaches up, scratching himself at the neck.

“Fuck,” he whispers.

“What?”

“It’s nothing.”

Johnny looks over and when he sees the skin of Gheorghe’s neck burning red he can’t help laughing out loud.

“Do not say I told you so,” Gheorghe says, smile in his voice.

“You’re daft, ya know? Anyone with half their wits about them could’ve known that were bound to happen.”

“It’ll pass.”

“Put a shirt on next time, will ya? For decency’s sake, like.”

Gheorghe huffs a laugh. “You care about that now? Where was decency when you decided to give me a blowjob in the mud? Outside.”

Johnny smiles but feels the slow creep of desire pooling inside him at the memory. It’s different now, when he does that. They take their time. Sometimes, when his lips brush against the hairs around Gheorghe’s cock -- when he feels the scent of him, or better yet, the taste -- he gets stuck. _This_ , he thinks, and feels like he could stay right there sucking Gheorghe off for the rest of his life. But that’s hardly feasible. There’s always work to get on with, after all.

“It’s a distraction, alright?” 

“Hm?”

“You going ‘round without a shirt on, I mean. It distracts me.”

It’s easier to speak when he doesn’t have to look into Gheorghe’s eyes. When he can look away but still feel a hand clasping his, anchoring him in place.

“Oh? I thought you were worried about my skin. About my health,” Gheorghe says. He has faux bewilderment down to a T. 

Johnny huffs. “Fuck off.”

“But that’s not it?” Gheorghe asks, leaning closer, speaking directly into his ear. Lips graze his temple, his earlobe. “You think I’m distracting?”

Gheorghe presses a soft kiss on his cheek, nibbling his way down to Johnny’s jaw. 

“On the rare occasion.”

“Now?” Gheorghe asks, placing an open-mouthed kiss to Johnny’s neck. Pleasure spreads, trickling down his back like golden syrup. 

The only thing that could prompt him to let go of Gheorghe’s offered hand is this. Being able to turn around and place it around his neck instead. Tilting his head a bit and meeting him halfway, softly exchanging kisses as the sun sets over the farm. Listening to the birds singing, feeling the chill settling over them, the dew hanging low in the air. Feeling the way Gheorghe’s beard bristles against his cheek, the warm hand that’s wormed its way under his jumper, stroking the skin over his ribs. 

“You distract me too, you know.”

“What?” 

Gheorghe leaves him out of breath. It’s been months and it still feels the same as the first time. 

“When you’re working with something, and you concentrate, and you bite your bottom lip,” Gheorghe says, pressing a kiss against his forehead. “When you lift hay when you’re only wearing a T-shirt and I can see your arms...” A kiss on his bicep, over his jumper. “When you bend over a fence with your ass turned towards me.” He feels Gheorghe's smile against his neck, a hand clasping his hip. “Every morning when I wake up and see you sleeping. When I feel how hard you are, and you don’t even know it yourself.” 

He's in awe of Gheorghe's boldness. He wonders if he'll ever be that brave, if he'll ever be able to say the things he feel out loud. He shows him, instead. Pulls Gheorghe's hand from its place on his hip, down, between his legs. Jerks his hips forward once, for Gheorghe to feel the outline of him hard in his trousers. Kisses him, slowly. Because the work can wait, sometimes. Gheorghe tastes like Cutter’s Choice and cheap lager and Johnny wants to stay right there forever. 

Feeling wholly alive. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from T.S. Eliot's The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! I love this small little fandom. Everyone is so nice. <3


End file.
